Harry Potter and the Ring of the Nibelung
by Tannhaeuser
Summary: Quite some time ago, someone challenged me to write a Harry Potter/Wagner crossover. This is the result. Obviously, the writing of the last three books has rendered this wildly AU, and it will almost certainly never be finished. Still, for what it's worth


**Harry Potter and the Ring of the Nibelung**

**Chapter One**

**The Barren Coast**

**I.**

"I-'v-v-v-v-v-v-e no id-d-d-dea how y-y-you talked me into th-th-th-th-this," shivered Ron Weasley. He hunched deeper into the thick sealskin cap and robe, till little could be seen but the end of his nose, now flaming red as his hair.

"Help! Help!" shrilled Harry Potter, holding up the empty, frost-bedaubed cuffs of his robe, "My hands have snapped off from the cold!"

"Ha jolly ha," spat Hermione Granger, her voice icier even than the cold east wind that whipped her brown, bushy hair like a banner. The three Hogwarts students stood at the head of a desolate pier. On one side, an iron-coloured sea dashed itself to white splinters; on the other, a strip of bone-white sand was fastened to a forest of black firs and universal ice. "It's not that cold – it's July, after all – "

"Golly, can you imagine what December's like?"

" – and anyway we promised we'd visit Durmstrang over the holidays. I don't understand you, Ron. I thought you liked Viktor."

"Oh, Krum's all right. But I don't see why anyone would go to school out here…"

"…unless he was a refrigerator repairman," grinned Harry.

"A What?"

"Never mind." A jing-jing-jing of silvery bells had begun to drift toward them, mixed with the cloppity-scrunch of hooves on the snow, and punctuated by the crrrrack! of a snapping whip. A vast enclosed sleigh, like a cottage _de luxe_ on ice, was skimming toward them, drawn by shadowy-grey reindeer, each as big as a lorry. It shuddered to a stop before them, and an ugly little man, very like a goblin but stone-coloured and with a vast beard like steel wires, hopped down to them, thrusting his whip into his belt.

"Forrr the skoo-al?" he growled gloomily. They nodded, dumbly. "You vill please to enter the sleigh." He seized their trunks and bags and hurled them onto the roof of the sleigh, and climbed up onto the box-seat without a further word.

"Friend-_ly_," remarked Ron.

"He's a Stone-Kobold, I expect. I read about them in _Subterranean Races of Central Eurasia_. They're related to Goblins – used to rule over them, in fact, until the First War of the Schilbung Succession, when – "

"Hair-Mon-Ninny!" A slender, dark-haired young man, with thick brown eyebrows and an eagle nose (and dressed, as Harry and Ron noted to their irritation, only in a simple woollen robe of deep crimson) had flung open the door of the sleigh. "So pleased I am to see you. And Harry Potter. And Jon."

"That's _Ron_," spluttered Weasley, but Viktor Krum had already descended, and was handing Hermione into the sleigh. "Hurry, and climb in. It is very cold outside."

"No, really?" whispered Harry to Ron, as they hoisted themselves in. "How can he tell?"

Inside the sleigh, however, it was quite warm, even sauna-like compared to the wintry outside, and Harry, Hermione, and even Ron were glad to hang their heavy robes on the coat-hooks on the by the door. The sleigh was really rather like a Muggle caravan, a little house on rails, with a table and chairs, cupboards, and beds, all of heavy oak and painted in peasant fashion, and an old-fashioned iron stove glowing cheerily in the corner. "I have made you potato-soup with pig's-meat in it," said Viktor, "and many cups of hot coffee. Also a shot of cognac."

"Excellent!" crowed Ron.

"Honestly!" hissed Hermione. "There's no need for that, Viktor. The climate is not so different in Britain – we're quite used to the cold… " She broke off. Krum was staring at her as if she were an escapee from St. Mungo's.

"Bot – bot – this is July! It is not natural for the veather to be so cold, even for Durmstrang. I vos thinking, this most be a spell…"

"Yeah," muttered Ron, " A cold spell…"

"And I vos hoping, you, Hermoninny, and you, Harry Potter … and of course you too, Ron … vould help me to find who is causing this, before ve haf our great festival on the Night of St. Bartolomey." He smiled suddenly, ruefully. "I am afraid I gif you vot is called the 'House-Elf's Holiday.'"

"Muggles call it a 'Busman's Holiday,'" said Harry. He was not sure he wanted a working holiday. But if he didn't stay at Durmstrang, the only alternative was… He glanced up, to find Hermione gazing at him with an odd, intense expression.

"Speaking of Muggles," she said, with elaborate detachment, "how are the Dursleys these days?"

"Oh, boy." Ron rolled his eyes. "That's settled it."

"Yes," sighed Harry. "I suppose it has."

Hermione turned to Krum, with a broad grin of triumph. "Of course, we'll stay and help you, Viktor. We'd like nothing better."

"I am very glad." Krum took each one's hand in turn, and shook it earnestly. "And now," he said, filling four small shot glasses from a small amber-coloured flask, "ve each take a little cognac to varm ourselves, and to bless us vith success. _Priyatełstvo_!" he toasted, raising his glass.

"Pre – pre – ah … what was that?"

"_Priyatełstvo_," smiled Viktor again. "That means, to Friendship!"

**II.**

"That's it," said Viktor. "That's Durmstrang."

The gleaming fortress leapt up before them on a crag of white and grey, crowning the rocky fells with the stern beauty of a sea eagle. Harry gulped, Hermione gasped, and Ron gave a long, low whistle. Far smaller than Hogwarts, and none too welcoming – but it wasn't, as they had expected, shadowed and gloomy, but gleaming, severe, and alert, like a warrior waiting, sword drawn, to battle a dragon. Cascades and waterfalls, shooting from cracks in the rock, would have fallen into a small rill at the cliff's foot, but the unnatural frost had stiffened them into flying white arches and glittering columns of ice.

"But it – it's lovely!" exclaimed Hermione. "Not at all the way I thought it would be … I-I mean… well…" she stammered, flushing at Krum's raised eyebrows.

"Well, it's not exactly the sort of place you'd imagine Karkaroff calling home, is it?" Ron explained.

Viktor's face darkened. "Karkaroff!" he growled. "Durmstrang vos founded to fight Dark Vizards like him. He should never have been Headmaster here, but Professor von Dürrenstrand, who should have got the position, had offended the governors. He is a terrible snob – it vos his ancestor that founded the school – and he favours the Germans too much, bot he is a much better man than (ptui!) that oily brute, Karkaroff. He flattered, and lied, and told the governors no von could teach fighting the Dark Arts better than somevon who had practised them vonce!"

"Then this Professor von Dingelhoffer – "

"Honestly, Harry, it's Dürrenhoffer – I mean… "

"Yeah, Harry, it's DYOOORenHOFFenBURGer!"

"This Professor Whoever-He-Is," grinned Harry, "is Headmaster now?"

"Yes," nodded Krum vigorously, "but he is all right. It is the new Dark Arts master who is suspicious. He took Karkaroff's place – the new Headmaster vill have nothing to do vith the Dark Arts. There vere not many vizards who vanted the job, so vhen this Dr. von Hermelin applied, the Headmaster had not much choice. Besides, he is a doctor – even if he is a German."

"What's so suspicious about him?"

"Vell," said Viktor, his eyebrows gathering ponderously over his nose, "for von thing, he is much too friendly! Most professors, you know, are very grim – but this Hermelin is alvays smiling, and giving compliments and praises, and flattering people, just like Karkaroff. Dmitri Poliakoff – he is a boy who is alvays spilling everything – "

("…sounds like the Neville Longbottom of Durmstrang," remarked Ron. Hermione glared.)

"He sent a svarm of vampire-bats after the Doctor. Hermelin vaved his vand, and they all just vent ZZZZZPPPPP! up in sparks – and then he gave Poliakoff no punishment! He just smiled, and said it didn't matter! It is not natural – at least, not for a German."

By this time they had swooped up the silvery mountain path to the castle gate, whose immense, spell-graven doors of black iron swung silently open. Another set of doors, and another, each opened silently and silently closed behind them, and they were in the castle quad. Most of the students had gone home for their holidays, but a few, whose long crimson and sable robes stood out like blood-stains against the snow and the severe white stone of the buildings, were bending and stretching in time to the orders barked out to them by an old wizard like a white-haired bear.

"What in the world…?"

"Morning drill, led by the Games master, Kutuzoff. I got out of it to meet you. And here ve are," said Krum, as the sleigh slid smoothly to a stop before the vaulted Hall of the school. He swung open the door, and jumped lightly down to help Hermione out of the sleigh; Harry and Ron hopped out behind.

"Hey!" shouted Ron, indignantly. His heavy baggage had been hurled down from the roof, missing his head by an inch. The ugly little driver flung Harry's and Hermione's bags down with a growl, clambered onto the box seat, snapped his whip over the reindeer, and thundered away. "What was that – the House-Elf from Hell?"

"You've got to be careful around Stone-Kobolds, Ron," explained Hermione complacently. "They've got very bad tempers. I don't expect they would let themselves be pushed around, the way our House-Elves do."

"They are not good servants. They are afraid of our Headmaster, though," said Krum, a little proudly. "He just has to look hard at them, and they run screaming."

"WHAT?" shouted Hermione. Harry shrugged, Ron grinned, and Viktor, oblivious, led the way through the arched doorway.

"I am taking you to meet the Headmaster," he explained. "He vos very interested, vhen I told him I vould be visited by three Hogvarts students, and vanted to meet you."

They passed down the wide marble stairs, and into the hall, where long tables of black oak were ranged on a broad floor, flagged with a black-and-white cross-pattern. The high white walls were pierced at intervals with wide windows of transparent glass, filling the hall with brilliant, colourless light, and from the black rafters hung massively wrought wheels of black iron on whose spikes rose hundreds of white wax candles. The grey Kobolds, bearing heavy trays of food, slunk back and forth between the tables, while various students, like red splashes of wine on a linen cloth, sat in little huddles of twos and threes, eating in silence.

"Viktor," inquired Hermione, "who are those girls all sitting together at the end table?"

"Ugh," said Viktor. "Those are the Valkyries, the vone-time King of Iceland's daughters. Nine sisters, all of them arrogant – two tvins, those are Valthrud, the oldest, and Sigrun, six triplets, Hialmveig, Geirhild, and …er … Yofrid , she's the von crushing the grapefruit vith von hand, Grimgerd, Odlinda (she's the red-haired von vith braids, that looks like a horse), and Hiördis, and the youngest von, Brynhild, the most arrogant of the lot. They are all very good vitches, super athletes, and not at all bad at Qvidditch – bot they cannot get over the fact they vere vonce royal. And Brynhild especially hates me, because I am a better Seeker than she is."

The girl he was pointing out, a dangerously pretty girl, slender as a naked sword, with an icy complexion and hair like spun glass, seemed to feel Hermione's gaze. She glanced up, and shot a venomous look at Krum and his friends. She then very deliberately spat onto the floor and turned her back haughtily.

Harry whistled. "She'd make the perfect Mrs. Draco Malfoy, wouldn't she?"

"I'm telling you," agreed Ron, awed. "She's a right little b – "

A harsh voice, like the hissing of a white-hot horseshoe plunged into icy water, struck through the hall. "Kobolds! The Princess of Iceland has spilled something on the floor. Vhy do you not clean it up?"

The little men looked up, and one of them snarled, "She spat on the floor! Make herrr clean it op hairrself!"

On a raised dais at the head of the hall the Headmaster stood, a lofty, gaunt old man, his hair and beard black but streaked with silver, robed and cloaked in spotless white, but with high black boots and black kid gloves, and looking rather like old photographs Harry had seen in the Muggle schools of the Kaiser just before his death. This grim old man stared stiffly at the Kobold who had spoken, and slowly spoke: "Do you question my orders, Knecht? You," he pointed, "You vill clean it. Now."

An ugly grumbling rose among the other Kobolds, and some of them gripped the great carving knives at their belts. The Headmaster turned on them. "And you! Do you grumble? Dare you revolt? I command you out of the hall." His eyes narrowed as they hesitated; he raised his gloved hand to his lips and seemed to tear at his knuckles in rage. "Shiver and shake, you shackled slaves! Swiftly obey your Master's behest!"

With shrieks like tortured children the little men stumbled and raced out of the hall, and the Kobold Knecht fell immediately to scrubbing the spot Brynhild had fouled. The Headmaster sank back into his great chair. Hermione was appalled.

"That was TERRIBLE! That poor little thing! Why should he have to clean up the mess that rude little snob had made!"

"Her-mon-ninny, you don't understand. These Kobolds, they are very strong and very, very bad creatures, vith very powerful magic. They vould be in league vith … vith…" (Viktor's voice sunk to a whisper) "…vith You-Know-WHO, unless they are ruled vith a strong hand. Karkaroff vos alvays too soft vith them … and so is…" He glanced toward the table as they drew near, where a chubby little man with a long pointed nose and pince-nez glasses was gently protesting to the Headmaster.

"_Herr Rektor, halten Sie es wirklich für ratsam, die Kobolde so streng zu behandeln? Ich glaube, das wird eher Unmut unter ihnen stiften, als die Disziplin zu fördern."_

"_Werter Doktor, Sie kennen meine Gründe dafür. Ich muß wie Stahl zu ihnen sein, besonders jetzt … da nun Karkaroff entflohen ist. Ich MUß meine Autorität über sie wahren. Sollten sie auch nur ahnen, daß ich schwach werde..."_

He glanced up to where Viktor was waiting, and fell silent. The little Dark Arts master also looked up.

"Ha- Hello, Viktor!" He gazed over his glasses at Harry and his friends, almost hungrily, Harry thought. "Excuse me," he spoke, very slowly, "but – if I may ask – aren't you…?"

"These are my friends from Hogvarts, Dr von Hermelin." said Viktor, coldly. "Professor von Dürrenstrand, may I present to you my friends, Miss Her-mon-ninny Grane-cher, Mr Ron Veasley, and Mr Harry Potter, who von the Tri-Vizard Cup."

"Well, actually," muttered Harry, hurriedly, "I only tied with a boy named Cedric Diggory."

"Ah, yes … the boy who was killed by … You-Know-Who," remarked Hermelin to the Headmaster, who nodded gravely. Harry was not very surprised. Very few wizards even dared to mention the Dark Lord, even now, years after most people thought he was long defeated and powerless.

"That was a very sad business, Mr Potter. Cedric Diggory was a fine young man, I understand. But where are my manners?" he said, coughing slightly. He rose and bowed. "May I, Headmaster? Miss Hermione Granger, Mr Ronald Weasley, Mr Harry Potter, may I present to you our staff, those that are here, of course: Professor Siegmund Ritter von Dürrenstrand, Headmaster and Transfiguration…" (he bowed frigidly in his chair) "…Professor Ragana Burve, Arithmancy; Professor Arbuja Kuutäht, Divination…" (these two plump, cheerful ladies, one dark, one fair, rose together and curtsied as one) "…Professor Väino Vuohinen, Herbology…" (a little old man with a beard like a goat, who nodded pleasantly) "…Professor Karl Allmänsson, Muggle Studies…" (a big, sleepy looking blond, who shook hands); "…Professor Wanda Czarownica, History of Magic; and Professor Ivan Koschei, Potions…" (a dark and rather tragic woman and a rough and rather sinister looking man with a beard, who bowed politely and returned to their conversation). "And – myself, Doctor Paulus Wendelinus, Count von Hermelin, Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"We're very pleased to meet you," said the three Hogwarts students, and Hermione added: "You speak English very well, Dr von Hermelin."

"Ah, thank you," he replied, with a smile and a slight flush, "Of course, we all speak English here, as a rule, as our students and masters come from many different nations. But as a matter of fact, I … ah … attended Hogwarts myself when I was a boy – just for a year, before I transferred to a small school in the Fatherland." He took off his pince-nez, and wiped them thoughtfully. "That's why I was a bit startled when I first saw you, Mr. Potter. You see, I knew your father – very slightly, of course, he was in his seventh year when I was in my first. He turned me into an owl, once, he and his friend Sirius Black." He smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"Sirius Black," muttered the Headmaster. He fixed an eye on Harry. "Tell me, boy: this Dark Vizard Black – vas he not a friend of your Headmaster Dumbledore, and betrayed your father and mother to their deaths?"

Harry replied warily, but with an angry crimson staining his cheeks, "I've heard something of the sort – but of course, as it happened when I was only a baby, I can't really know."

"And … is it true, vhat ve have heard? Has your Dumbledore really einen Riesen – a Giant – teaching at your school?"

"Yes." ("Harry…" whispered Hermione, warningly.) "Sir."

"And a verevolf?"

"Not any more – unfortunately."

Von Dürrenstrand opened his eyes very wide at this. Pale eyes, Harry noticed, a blue-grey so pale that all the colour seemed leached out of them. They reminded him suddenly of Sirius' eyes, just out of Azkaban – dead eyes, as if the soul behind them had been sucked forth. He wondered if the Headmaster had not gone silently mad, and no-one had noticed it yet.

He was speaking. "Vhen my ancestor, Wälse, Ritter von Dürrenstrand, sat in this chair, there came to him a Livonian vizard, and said: 'I am able to transform myself into a ravening volf, huge and terrible. Grant me my life, and rule over my brethren, and I vill even so give this power unto you and your knights, and none vill stand against you.' "

" 'Do this,' said the Ritter, 'and I shall reward you vith more than your desire.' And the vizard transformed before Wälse and all his court into a hideous volf. Then the Ritter did command them to let loose the fierce ban-dogs that served the knights in the hunt, and they did tear the vile traitor to pieces before him."

"As did Wälse, so vould I do. Vith my own hands I would gladly destroy these verevolves, and giants, and all the creatures of darkness."

Ron burst forth, "Hagrid and Professor Lupin aren't creatures – and they're not Dark! They're not like ordinary Giants and Werewolves. Professor Dumbledore knows that, even if – "

"Jawohl – Dumbledore knows! Vell indeed he knows, how trustvorthy are the Dark powers! Tell me, Harry Potter – " he hissed, rounding suddenly on Harry, "Have you never thought if this Dumbledore of yours had been more careful of the Dark magic, your parents vould still live?"

The students' gasps mingled with those of the masters, and Hermelin protested aghast, "Headmaster!"

Unheeding, the Headmaster carried on, grimly. "I do not seek to be cruel, boy – but it is better for you to learn at vonce. Your Headmaster vishes you to look alvays beyond, to look for a light that the darkness cannot destroy." He shook his head wearily. "There is no light beyond darkness. Vhere the darkness has entered, it vill remain forever. My – I knew a young man, perhaps like your own father … vonce. Your Dumbledore knew him as vell; and from Dumbledore he learned to look alvays for light in the heart of darkness. And at the heart of darkness vas the Vizard Grindelwald."

He paused, looking grey and deathly, gazing into space as into a mirror on a dark past. Harry, fascinated in spite of himself, questioned: "Grindelwald? But didn't Professor Dumbledore … ?"

"Yes. Dumbledore destroyed the Dark Master, in the end. But not before Grindelwald had created and brought forth – Herr Schwarzkunstmeister, wie sagt man auf englisch 'Sinnräuber?' "

The little doctor hesitated. "Herr von Dürrenstrand…"

"Hermelin!"

The Dark Arts master murmured, " 'Dementors'."

"Ah ja. This young man, who had been taught by your Headmaster to look for the light that remained in Dark creatures …" He rose abruptly. "Do not make the same mistake, Harry Potter. Do not trust the creatures of Darkness. Vhen the light is gone, it is gone for ever." And pulling his black gloves on more tightly and swirling his cloak around him, he stalked through a gap in a hanging arras, and vanished.

Doctor von Hermelin stood up. "I'm sorry for that. Perhaps you won't judge the Headmaster too harshly, if I tell you a little more about the young man in question. If my colleagues will excuse us, I shall give you breakfast in my room. Follow me, please."

**III.**

"I'm right up here at the top of the North Tower," said Hermelin pleasantly, pushing back a low black door, fortified with studs and an iron lock heavy as an anvil. "You can see what the Headmaster thinks of the Dark Arts: I believe this room was a prison cell once."

It certainly looked like one to Harry. There was only one small window, high up the wall, and that was crossed with thick black bars. The walls were of rough-hewn stone, the white-wash gashed and peeling. There seemed to be locks on everything, locks on the desk, locks on the wardrobe, locks on the book-case, locks on the books themselves. The bed was formed from four plain black posts that ran from the low ceiling into the floor; there were no drapes.

A low table of the same dark wood was spread for five: piping hot bread, with new-churned butter and five kinds of jam, including apricot; kippers (for those who liked kippers) and sugar-cured bacon and ham (for those who did not); steaming dishes of omelettes gooey with golden cheese; and half-grapefruits, which no-one but Viktor and Hermione touched. A china urn, crimson with golden chrysanthemums, spouted jets of aromatic coffee on the left, tea on the right, and a shining white Sugar Quill stood in each cup.

"I have but two words to say to you," said Dr. von Hermelin, peering over his spectacles and assuming a basso profundo, "and those are: Tuck In." Ron gave a great guffaw – the master's impression of Dumbledore was letter-perfect. Harry grinned, and Hermelin smiled in answer. "You must remember, I've been to Hogwarts. I remember those feasts very well, I promise you."

"Excuse me, Doctor," said Hermione, examining the table, "but how did you know to lay a table for five?"

"I didn't. I had no idea anyone was visiting the castle until I saw you."

"Then – ?"

"Our Kobolds, Miss Granger. The moment they heard me ask you to breakfast, they prepared all this, and had it all set out while we were still climbing the North Tower stairs. Remarkable creatures," he continued, drawing a honey-coloured Quill from a box on his desk and crumbling it into his tea, "not nearly as good-natured as House-Elves, of course, but highly ingenious. They are particularly good at cooking and toy-making, and jewellery and metal-work, anything having to do with fire, weapons, explosions, that sort of thing."

"Yes, I know! They're related to Goblins, aren't they? – used to rule them, in fact – "

" – yes, their King Nibelung used to make the Goblins toil in his mines to heap up treasure for the Nibelungen – "

" – until the War of the Schilbung Succession, of course, when Nibelung died and his two sons, Nibelung II and Schilbung fell to quarrelling over the hoard – "

" – which they lost – "

" – yes, and the Goblins took advantage of the loss of the gold and the resulting confusion to rise up against the Nibelungs, thus gaining their liberty – "

" – and driving the Nibelungs eastward from their ancient home on the Rhine, to end up – here, the most miserable of miserable slaves. I must admit, I feel sorry for them."

"I do not see vhy you should," retorted Viktor, scowling. "You jost said yourself, their Kings and Princes vere oppressing the Goblin vorkers, using them to pile up riches vhile they themselves did nothing."

"Not quite nothing, Mr. Krum. It is possible if the Nibelungs had not civilised them, Goblins would be grunting at each other in mud-holes to this very day. It was the Nibelung Kobolds who first devised the magic arts the Goblins put to use, for them and against them. For instance, the Nibelungs invented the Tarnkappe, which was a sort of combination Polyjuice Potion and Invisibility Cloak – and gave the wearer the strength of a hundred besides. They invented divining-rods that could search out gold or copper, or water, or salt, if that's what you wanted. It's even been said they created a magical ring that could do all those things together, and would make its owner more powerful than any king, and only when it was lost could the Goblins conquer them."

"But," said Harry, "the Headmaster is convinced they're Dark creatures."

"I'm afraid so," replied Hermelin, pulling off his pince-nez and rubbing his nose. "You see, the Headmaster knows that (ahem!) You-Know-Who had made efforts to recruit the Stone-Kobolds to his side. Professor von Dürrenstrand is convinced they would immediately join forces with the Dark Lord, if they were ever allowed to rise again as a nation."

"Bot the Dark Lord is gone!"

"The Headmaster thinks not – and in that, I must say I agree with him."

"Then the Kobolds might join Vol– er, him?" frowned Harry.

"I see little danger of that. The Nibelungs have suffered enough from tyranny – they are the last Beings who would join …er, him."

"Then what makes the Headmaster think they will?"

"Ah. Well. I'm afraid it can't be denied the Kobolds fifty years ago did ally themselves…"

"Yes?

Hermelin looked suddenly very sad and pale. "…with Grindelwald."

Viktor, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other with round eyes and mouths hanging open. Irritated, Harry blurted out, "Look, I know Grindelwald must have been pretty bad, but he can't have been any worse than Vol–" (Ron struck the table with his fist, rattling the dishes) "– all right, than You-Know-Who! What is it about Grindelwald that makes the Headmaster start foaming at the mouth like that? What does it all have to do with Dumbledore? And who is this mysterious young man?"

Hermelin raised his eye-brows. "I thought you would have guessed, Harry. The young man was Professor von Dürrenstrand's son." He rose, and began to clear away.

"And he vos killed by Grindelwald?"

"No, Mr Krum." He paused. "Tell me – have you ever heard of the '_Strandmagier_' – the 'Wizards of the Coast'?"

"Oh, yes," said Hermione, eagerly. "I've read about them!" She reddened as Harry and Viktor stared and Ron rolled his eyes. "Well, it's not so strange. When we decided to come to Durmstrang, I wanted to find out all I could about the place before we arrived. The 'Wizards of the Coast' were an order of Magical Knights, who founded Durmstrang in the early thirteenth century The original name of the castle was 'Dürrenstrand,' which means 'the Barren Coast', but the name was worn down over the years to 'Durmstrang'."

"Quite right, Miss Granger. Our Professor von Dürrenstrand is a direct descendant of one of the original Knights, who built this castle to fight the Dark Wizards of Livonia."

"So they were basically a lot of medieval Aurors?"

"Exactly, Mr. Weasley – very well put. However, they weren't only medieval; their Order lasted right down to this century. The Master of the Order at that time had married an English wife, who had herself attended Hogwarts. Victoria Lynde had been strongly influenced by her favourite teacher there – the Transfigurations master, Albus Dumbledore. From him she had learned to look for the good in those who were struggling against darkness – even in themselves. After her son Siegfried was born, she taught him to do the same. Dumbledore became a sort of honorary uncle to the lad, and used to visit them here quite often." He paused, gazing at the broken, impotent spear of sunlight that fell from the grated window to a pale spot on the floor. "I do not think his father Siegmund entirely approved."

"Now when Siegfried was just sixteen, the 'Strandmagier' in Germany were investigating a series of strange disappearances, disappearances that had been linked to a Wizard named Cäcus Grindelwald. Victoria von Dürrenstrand had been among the first to suspect him, and she was determined to save his unhappy captives from their fate. She failed."

"What…fate?" asked Hermione, with difficulty.

"Grindelwald was the most powerful Dark Wizard of his time, and the cruellest, and the subtlest, but even all his subtlety, and cruelty, and power could not create something from nothing. So he and his followers … experimented. He started with Muggles – young ones, by choice, they had a greater chance of surviving – but the magic was too powerful, and the Muggles all merely died. So he turned to wizards.

"His spells were unspeakably vile: spells to destroy all light and life, to leave only decay and darkness. He ripped the souls from his victims, and left only the rotting shells of humanity to be the vessels of his envy and hatred for all who were happy."

"But WHY?" Ron burst forth in protest. "Why did Grindelwald hate everyone so much?"

"Have you ever wondered why a Dementor is blind?" Hermelin unlocked his book-cabinet, picked out a thick, yellow, worm-eaten octavo, and began to read: " 'This Grindelwald was blind, blind from birth. All his life, envy gnawed at him and consumed him, envy of the people who could see the sun, and the waters flashing in the sun, and the white snows of the mountains, while he was condemned to darkness. And so Grindelwald created the Dementor; in his own image he created him; _male and female created he them_.

" 'Dürrenstrand and Grindelwald had long known and hated each other, and Grindelwald knew how cruelly the Master would feel his wife's…misfortune. He sent a message to Durmstrang from the Schattenburg, his citadel in the Harz Mountains. He bound himself with the strongest magical oaths, oaths that no wizard, no matter how wicked, would dare to break, swearing Dürrenstrand's wife was not dead, and he would release her to the Master, if he would come or send for her, nor would he seek to hold or hinder him or his messenger. Yet the Master would not trust him; he would not go, and he forbade any of his knights to go. And in the Knights' Hall of Durmstrang, his son' " – Hermelin spoke slowly, as if each word were more hateful than the last – " 'his son Siegfried called him a coward, and a murderer, and one who had never loved his wife; and cast a goblet of wine in his father's face, and went to bring his mother out of the Schattenburg. A large number of the "Strandmagier" went with him.

" 'In the great hall of the Schattenburg they stood before the Dark Master and his robed and hooded and veiled attendants; and Siegfried cried out to Grindelwald to bring forth his mother, and his other captives, and release them.

" ' "But see! here are they all, eager to come to you," said Grindelwald, "and here, little Ritter, stands the Lady von Dürrenstrand, ready to greet her son with a motherly Kiss." The veiled figure that stood at Grindelwald's side put down its hood, and the son saw the Thing that had been his mother; and so did all the figures in the hall, and the knights saw those that had been their friends and kinsmen. In that cursed hall Siegfried received his mother's kiss, and the Order of the Wizards of the Coast was destroyed, and the numbers of the Dementors increased.' " Hermelin laid the book down.

"Bot," Viktor burst forth, troubled, "bot I thought you said Siegfried von Dürrenstrand vos not killed!"

The Dark Arts Master gazed steadily into Viktor's eyes. "Killed? No, Mr Krum – he was not. Those who suffer the Dementor's Kiss are not killed, and they do not die. They become Dementors themselves. The creature that was once Siegfried von Dürrenstrand is now one of the guards at the Prison of Azkaban."

"I still don't understand, though," insisted Harry. "Why does Professor von Dürrenstrand dislike Dumbledore so? After all, he defeated the man who … did that to his wife and son."

"Mr Potter, if a man had done that to … people whom you cared for very deeply, you might prefer your own revenge to someone else's – especially if you felt someone had stolen their affections from you in the first place." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm afraid, also, our Headmaster blames Dumbledore – or at least Dumbledore's ideas – for his family's deaths and the destruction of the Order. He thinks they should never have trusted a creature of Darkness like Grindelwald." He sighed, heavily, his face turned down and away. "You know, Harry, I have the greatest respect for Professor Dumbledore, but I sometimes wonder myself. Perhaps the Headmaster is right, perhaps Dumbledore does trust Dark creatures too far?"

"If you mean Hagrid or – "

"I said nothing about Hagrid, or anyone else," interrupted Hermelin, a bit angrily, but Harry refused to be silenced.

"… then I think you and your Headmaster are both cracked. Dumbledore is the greatest wizard in the world, and if he says someone can be trusted, they can be trusted."

Hermelin stiffened. With his eyes still fixed on the floor, he said, slowly and rather bitterly: "I think, under the circumstances, Harry, it would be well if you and your friends avoided the Headmaster as much as possible during your stay at Durmstrang – and I think I must ask you to extend the same… courtesy, to me. If you would please excuse me…Mr. Krum will show you to the Boys' and Girls' dormitories." The Dark Arts Master pushed the heavy black door to behind them, and they could hear the triple turning of the massive iron lock.

"Avoid them – I should say so," growled Ron, as they made their descent. "He and that von Dickelweed are both of them about as big a pair of loonies as I've ever seen – and I grew up with Percy, Fred, and George!"

"No, Ron," said Hermione, seriously, "that's what he wants us to do."

"Right," said Harry, and Viktor nodded vigorously. "Whatever we do while we're here, we mustn't lose sight – of either of them."

Ron flung his hands to the heavens. "Brilliant. Subzero temperatures, homicidal House-Elves, a team of Amazons with a grudge, a maniac for a Headmaster, and a bleached Snape for Dark Arts. Welcome to a Harry Potter Holiday!"


End file.
